


Gift a Neckerchief to Your Tarts of Treacle

by ElephantineGrace



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Everybody Lives, Fix-It, Gen, Happy Ending, Sassy Harry, Sassy Merlin (Merlin), and cedric, bless his soul, except Voldie, no beta we die like lancelot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:34:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27279583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElephantineGrace/pseuds/ElephantineGrace
Summary: After over a thousand years spent as an old man, Merlin is sent packing by the Triple Goddess to attend Hogwarts as a student. Using his skills in wizardry and newfound knowlege of the modern world, Merlin must protect Harry Potter from a year that would have been otherwise fraught with danger. It's Merlin's last mission for Albion before he reunites with Arthur again.
Relationships: Freya/Merlin (Merlin), Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin (Merlin) & Harry Potter
Comments: 18
Kudos: 100





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As magic evolved, so did the manifestations of the Triple Goddess. The Maiden Rianne, the Mother Selena, and the Crone are all divinities of magic who make up the Triple Goddess. Since Merlin is one of the purest embodiments of magic, they often send him on missions. Merlin is under no obligation to serve them, but he knows that is the best way to protect the wizarding world and possibly meet Arthur again.

A wizened old man with a long, white beard reaching to his knees was resting his head on a stack of grimoires. It was obvious that the man was asleep. His snores resounded throughout the room and echoed through the castle’s many corridors, and the collar of his amber robes was wet with drool. He looked older than a hundred if that was possible for an ordinary man, a figure so bent, with a face so wrinkled.

The chamber he was sleeping in was no less mysterious: detailed sculptures of dragons surrounded the windows, stacks of books reaching the vaulted ceiling tottered dangerously, and swords with beautifully gilded handles were strewn across the floor. A whisper sounded from across the room, “Emryss…Emrysss.” The whisper became louder and more annoyed until the voice quite shouted, “MERLIN!”

Merlin awoke with a start and glided across the tombs (if old men could glide) to the source of the voice. He stopped to peer into the mouth of a basin encrusted with citrines and grey pearls. In the silvery substance filling the basin was a celestial woman’s reflection.

“Greetings, Goddess!” Merlin said, sinking into a low bow before yelling in pain.

“Good heavens, Merlin!” said the woman impatiently. She wore a delicate bun with a few strands framing her plump face, and was dressed in a sea green gown with long, embroidered sleeves.

“I do apologize, Mother Selena” said Merlin grimacing. “A nasty crick in the back… old age you know.”

“As I am not the Crone, I do not know!” the woman said angrily. “And neither should you as you have the power to change into your youthful form whenever you please! I haven’t come here for idle chitchat. You have another mission.”

Merlin frowned and stamped his foot, “You just made me go on a mission to stop that Grindelwald looney-bin. Can’t I ever have a moment’s rest? I was all set to take a nice, one-year long nap, Fenny had been fed and everything—”

“Your last mission was sixty years ago,” snapped the goddess, ire flaring into her eyes. “What have you done to yourself? Your robe is covered in custard stains and your chambers are filthy! You spend your time doing nothing more than collecting dragon pictures and imitations of the Old Relics because you think they are amusing! You should be out in the world learning information about new cultures and traditions with other young people, not riddled with old age!”

“I _am_ an old man!” Merlin shouted into the basin. “I’ve been alive for over two-thousand years. Who do I have left? Arthur never returned to reunite Albion, I haven’t seen Gaius since I was twenty-eight (I’ve stopped counting how old I am now), I barely remember the sound of Guinevere’s and Gwaine’s voices, and I haven’t seen the only girl I ever loved since…”

Merlin gasped, and his voice wavered before he abruptly sat down with his face in his hands. The mother goddess regarded him sadly before whispering to a person Merlin couldn’t see, “Speak to him, Freya.”

“Freya!” Merlin stood up and peered eagerly into the mouth of the basin.

A slender girl of about seventeen with long, dark tresses appeared in the waters. Merlin hadn’t seen her in five centuries, and tears of joy leaked from his eyes.

“Merlin,” the young girl smiled at him. “I met you many years go, but I still remember what pure happiness I felt when I realized for the first time, what it means to be loved. You have been waiting to reunite with us for so long…I want you to feel that you are loved.”

“I have never stopped loving you,” said Merlin shakily. “You are the only person who could ever see me as someone other than Emrys or a servant…I had no desire for an heir or close friends, only to be with my family again.”

“My only wish is to be with you, but Merlin, you must listen to me. The wizards of Albion are still in danger and only can you can save them. A boy named Harry Potter battles a dark lord, whose presence threatens the entire wizarding race. Fate has intervened to help Harry Potter and prevent a year that was otherwise fraught with dangers. Guide him like you helped me, Merlin.”

“Of course I will, my Freya. My devotion for you will never waver. Although,” Merlin said grimly. “I am old enough to be your great grandfather.”

“No matter,” said Freya cheerfully, and she transformed into a wrinkled woman as old as Merlin.

Merlin laughed and looked at her thoughtfully, “Maybe, when we meet again another thousand years later, we’ll grow old together and you’ll really look like that.”

“Merlin,” said Freya, looking searchingly into his eyes, the only part of him that remained the same since their youth. “You won’t have to wait another thousand years, because as soon as this quest is over, you will be reunited with me _and_ Arthur.”

Merlin staggered, “You mean I’ll finally be able to conjure roses for you and speak to Arthur about my magic? After two-thousand years, on the day I decided to take a nap for a year or two after I fed Fenny…”

“Yes, Merlin.” Freya smiled. “You may give me as many _strawberries_ as you like, and you’ll really get to _talk_ to Arthur about your magic, but this time you won’t be separated from him.”

“This all seems rather like a dream,” said Merlin. Goodness knows how many dreams he had had about reuniting with Arthur one day. “Who is this boy, Harry Potter?”

Freya sighed, “A fifteen-year-old wizard who survived a killing curse and was consequently marked out by the madman who tried to kill him in the first place. It’s his destiny to defeat the dark lord.”

“Ah, is it destiny again?” said Merlin ruefully, remembering the many arguments he had had with the Great Dragon regarding this subject. “They do crush a young warlock’s dreams!”

Something strange was happening to Merlin. As he stood peering eagerly into the basin and happily talking to Freya, his hair started to shrink, his back begun to straighten out, and the black that was absent for a thousand years came back into his roots. He now resembled a man in his early thirties.

“Merlin,” the Mother Goddess appeared. “Did you intend to change your appearance?”

“No, Mother Selena.” said Merlin, gazing down at his pale hands in amazement.

“Well, that settles things. Say goodbye to Freya now.”

“Farewell, Freya, until this mission is complete.” Merlin stretched out to touch the water’s surface and Freya did the same—he could almost feel the brush of her fingertips, before she disappeared.

“Now, Emrys!” said Selena, smoothing down her skirt. “Do you remember the dark wizard that I wrote to you of in my last letter?”

Merlin screwed up his face, as if trying to remember something he had shoved like old paper work into the recesses of his brain and had clearly forgotten about.

“Moldydork?” he asked hesitantly.

Selena scowled at him, “Voldemort, Merlin! He seeks revenge against ordinary people and even their magical children. The wizard has killed thousands of innocent civilians. The boy will stay at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry during the term, and you will protect him.”

“Hogwarts, you don’t say!” Merlin grinned wolfishly and put his hands in the pockets of his robes. “I still remember when Salazar and Helga decided to make the ‘magical school for children.’ They chose a beautiful castle too—it reminded me of Camelot’s palace. Godric and Rowena built _so_ many statues of griffins and ravens though: I had to remove some of them to keep the children from screaming every time they turned a corner. They knew that I was the legendary Merlin, the most powerful warlock in the world…So, I expect I’ll be a Hogwarts professor? Maybe defense against the dark arts? I know how to impale questing beasts and defeat trolls. Or if there are no other position available, I could be the potions master. All that time as Gaius’ assistant…”

Selena shook her head firmly, “You will not be a professor, Merlin. You will attend Hogwarts with Harry, as a student in your fifth year.”

“I’m more powerful than all of those students and professors put together. I’m not going to be taught magic like some uneducated schoolboy.”

“You _are_ nothing more than an uneducated schoolboy. Your knowledge of wand magic is little better than a first year’s.” Selena’s eyes glinted, and she said stonily, “You must transform into a boy of about Harry’s age. Remember that you are an object of the triple goddess’s will and cease to waste my time!”

Merlin glared at Selena and transformed into the image of a young boy who was nearly sixteen, a year before he came to Camelot. Merlin smiled. Not only had his body become two-thousand-and-eighty-four years younger, but his spirit had also been rejuvenated. He felt like the country lad from Ealdor again—the impish humor that had filled him in his boyhood days had returned.

“Good. Now you are but a young warlock, you are much easier to scold,” Selena sighed in relief. “You must buy the supplies required for your classes and review the course material from first to fourth year. There are many things you must do before you board the Hogwarts Express!”

She then proceeded to tell him exactly what he should do and what he expressly shouldn’t, although Selena was sure the latter had quite gone over Merlin’s head. 

“So, I have to write a letter to the headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, and tell him that my parents educated me themselves and now wish that I study abroad in my fifth year?”

Selena nodded, and Merlin hurried to the other side of the room and started tossing several fragile-looking scrolls into a tattered, plum-colored carpet bag. The boy then pulled out a drawer from the desk and started to search its contents for quite a while, only pausing to admire his dragon figurines. He gazed into the distance with a happy smile and caught the eye of the mother goddess, who was glaring at him with all the fury she could muster.

Merlin gave a start and dropped the dragon lego set he was holding, “Mother Goddess, I’m so sorry. Is there anything else you wanted to talk to me about or have you finished…?”

“Yes, quite,” said Selena, pursing her lips before smirking. “Oh and Emrys, if you neglect to do as you’re told, the Crone _will_ speak to you.”

Merlin’s mouth opened in horror. The ancient goddess was even older than he was. He still remembered the solemn talking-to she had given him three centuries ago when he had stoutly refused to do Selena’s bidding.

“I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen!” Merlin squeaked as Selena disappeared and the basin lay empty once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, Merlin gets acquainted with the modern world and attempts to make a fashion statement.
> 
> Please comment, especially if you have ideas or want to see more of this fic.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: the end of this chapter is 80% undiluted crack
> 
> 1 kudos = 1 step towards Arthur's and Merlin's reunion  
> 1 comment = 1 epic roast by Merlin

Now that Merlin had strength in his limbs and a straight back, he made his way to the entrance hall of his castle. The room was certainly unfit to receive guests. The twenty crystal chandeliers that hung from the ceiling were thick with dust and cobwebs, and the floorboards under the marble tiles were rotten through. Merlin energetically set to work with his magic: he scrubbed the floor until it glistened, dusted the chandeliers, repaired the floorboards and as an afterthought, permeated a strong scent of pines throughout the hall.

Satisfied, Merlin cupped his hand to his mouth and whispered, “Ken, Bea”

A few seconds later, a clean-shaven man with slightly pointed ears, and a kind-faced woman with thick, black hair appeared in front of the ornately carved double doors.

“Merlin!” the two cried in unison before flinging themselves upon him.

“It’s good to see you too!” Merlin smiled, thumping Ken on the back and taking Bea’s hand in his own.

“I’ve never seen you so young.” Bea said in a motherly tone, looking down at him fondly.

“Selena wishes me to go on a mission again to help a young wizard, so she made me transform into a boy,” Merlin said grimly.

“It suits you,” Ken said. “Do you need us to help you in your endeavors? Remember, your wish is our command.”

This was quite true. Merlin had created the two magical beings a thousand years ago to collect information from the modern world (Merlin just couldn’t keep up with the times). They took the form of many creatures and were devoutly loyal to Merlin.

“Thank you, Ken. Are you registered wizards in Albion?”

“Yes, we obtained British wizardry licenses some thirty years ago,” said Bea.

“Excellent!” Merlin beamed. “You two will pose as my parents while I attend Hogwarts. What are your registered sir names?”

Ken and Bea shared a sideways glance, “It’s Pendragoon.”

Merlin’s mouth dropped open, “Pendragoon! But why? Surely, you wouldn’t want to be known as Mrs. Pendragoon, Bea?”

Bea chuckled, “I spend more time in France than in Britain. Anyway, Ken and I had invented so many names for ourselves over the last thousand years that it grew tiring…and you had just finished telling us that story in which you transformed into Dragoon and told Arthur he had a face of a toad!”

“The druids had also gifted us a plentiful supply of elderflower wine that day.” Ken add, his cheeks reddening.

Merlin shook his head ruefully, “’Merlin Pendragoon’, I’ll be a laughingstock!”

“How about Merlin Pendroc?” asked Ken. “It may not be a traditional wizarding name, but it’s not terrible.”

Merlin nodded in relief and set about writing to the Hogwarts headmaster.

Dear Mr. Dumbledore,

My parents decided that they would be responsible for my instruction in sorcery and have homeschooled me for five years. Now that I have reached a critical point in my education, I wish to spend my fifth year at Hogwarts. If this is agreeable with you, please send me a letter of acceptance before the new term begins.

Sincerely,

Merlin Pendroc

“That should do it,” Merlin said, stuffing the letter into a yellow envelope. “Now, should I send this letter by wyvern or owl?”

“Owl!” said Ken hurriedly, sharing a look with Bea. How would their poor Merlin survive at a modern school?

“I suppose,” said Merlin regretfully. “I just fed Fenny eighty buckets of chicken wings and I wouldn’t want him to puke on delivery. Percival will have to do!”

Merlin opened a small broom cupboard and pulled out what looked like a sack of gray feathers, “Percival—the poor owl’s nearly as old as I am—prefers sleeping in dusty closets.”

Percival gloomily took Merlin’s letter in his beak, stumbled onto the windowsill, and took flight.

“Do I need to gather supplies from Diagon Alley?” asked Merlin brightly.

“We’ll do that for you.” Ken asked, “Do you want a pet to take with you—perhaps a kneazle or an emerald toad?”

Merlin shook his head firmly, “I’ve got Perce! When I receive my acceptance letter, I’ll send you the supplies list, alright?”

Merlin bowed the couple out the door, before hurrying to his library. The ancient room was ten times the size of the small chamber that Geoffrey had presided over, and was full to the brim with dusty, old tombs that an antique dealer would kill to get his hands on. Merlin ran his fingers along the spines of the more recent volumes that Ken had gifted to him. He paused at “Life in the 70’s", and took the book down from the shelf.

The young warlock flipped through the pages and gasped in amazement when he saw a picture of a hippy.

* * *

After an afternoon spent poring over the thick volumes and eating his way through a hamper of chicken and watercress sandwiches, Merlin felt he was quite knowledgeable of the lives of modern teenagers. From what he gathered, the children wore long trousers that pooled around their feet and headbands in lurid colors. They also had a certain affinity towards strange songs with widely appreciated lyrics like “hey baby.”

Merlin paused to gaze out the window at the small village that his castle overlooked. He distinctly remembered a bright little shop at the corner of Hearst Lane, which stocked both vintage and modern clothing, and should have the necessary garments. Merlin was quite fond of the old lady who ran the shop and had spent many rainy afternoons good naturedly haggling with her over her Victorian collection (The jeweled walking stick just so happened to be a Sidhe staff imbibed with powerful magic of the Old Religion, and the monocle annoyed Selena and amused Rianne, the maiden goddess.)

Merlin bet he could get a good deal on the clothes if he bartered one of his less useful knickknacks. With the help of “Life in the 70’s”, he should be able to purchase enough items to lend him a suitable amount of swagger. Merlin hadn’t attempted to attend school in seven hundred years, but even he knew it wouldn’t do to not fit in.

After rummaging in a waste paper basket for several minutes, Merlin gave a triumphant cry and pocketed a piece of the bronze triskelion which had once opened the tower that housed the last dragon egg in Albion. He made sure the castle’s door was locked and reapplied a mild notice-me-not charm before setting off to Hearst Lane. It was a mile’s walk, half of which was through Merlin’s own estate. By the time he had passed Freya’s lake, remarked the new lilies growing by the pond’s edge, and climbed down the small, but steep hill which was sprouting great tufts of green grass, he was gasping for breath. It appeared that by shedding the weight of two-thousand-and-eighty-four years, he had also shed a good deal of stamina.

Huffing and puffing, Merlin made his way to the village. The village air was a delicate balance between the perfume of wet rain on cobblestone and the sweetness of iced orange scones, which were the preferred tea treat of the locals. Merlin’s favorite shop was a little secluded from the other stores, partly because it was nestled in between a small grove of hydrangeas, and its blue windows were covered with liberal amounts of red paint that sported advertisements like “SALE ON MODERN AND VINTAGE CLOTHING”, “ARTHURIAN RELICS”, and “NEAPOLITAN ÉCLAIR AND ALASKAN BOMBE RECIPES”. Pausing only to gaze fondly at a copy of Excalibur that the owner had bullied Merlin into mounting under a sign that said “Miranda’s Bibelots, est. 1953”, Merlin swept into the shop.

The old, spectacled woman who was seated at the counter did not even deign to look up at him as the door chime rang. She was hunched over, a look of utmost concentration on her face, as she held up a gold earring in a pair of forceps and peered at it through her looking glass. Merlin held his breath and gave a halloo like a hunting cry to get her attention, “M’RANDY, look who’s here to see you!”

“I haven’t the time to talk to you, Merlin. I’m quite busy today” she said, unpausing in her scrutiny of the earring.

“Your glasses are about to fall off your nose” Merlin said plaintively, crossing his arms, “and besides, that’s gold, even if there isn’t a mark.”

Miranda looked up at him sharply, then frowned. “ _You_ aren’t Merlin. Who said you can call me, M’randy?”

Belatedly, Merlin realized that Miranda wouldn’t recognize him in the body of a young boy. “I’m not!—err—your Merlin, that is. I’m his great nephew, Merlin the Second. I’m living with Merlin the First for a while. He sent me to your shop.”

Miranda huffed. “You have the cheek of your grand uncle for sure! And why do the lot of you have the same eccentric name? Are your brothers and cousins also some variation of Merlin?”

Merlin sniffed unappreciatively. “No, it’s just me and granduncle. And I think it’s impolite to call us eccentric, when you’re rather eccentric yourself.”

Miranda gave him a grin like a Cheshire cat. “Ok, young Merlin the Second, I didn’t mean to ruffle your feathers. I’m sure your uncle’s told you many tales about me, so you may call me M’randy if you wish. The poor goat must have finally succumbed to old age if he sent you here, so we should get acquainted. What are you here for?”

Merlin opened “Life in the 70’s” and smiled brightly. “Some of these, if you please. Uncle Merlin’s going to travel abroad, and I’m off to boarding school in September, so I’ll be needing new clothes.”

“Eh? That senile turnip head has the strength in his limbs to go on vacation? The last time he came around hereabouts, he told me that he wouldn’t see me for a year, because he was going to take an extra-long nap.” Miranda shook her head, “If you’re looking for 70’s clothes, they’re on the last rack under the poster of the hippy, but I don’t know if you want to wear those to school. Slim turtle neck sweaters are in. My niece owns five of them. Why don’t you buy a turtle neck instead?”

“Thank you for the advice, but I wish to look cool in my new school!” Merlin bowed, before rushing over to the hippy poster. 

After throwing vibrant, rainbow-colored scarves across shoulders and ascertaining which clothes were loose enough to give him a semblance of flair, Merlin lugged his purchases to the counter in a tote bag with a peace sign on it.

“This much?” Miranda asked disbelievingly, clearly dubbing Merlin’s family as eccentrics while she scanned his items. “Extra flouncy bell-bottom jeans, shady pair of shades, rainbow feather headband, tie-dye shirt, pink knee-high moccasin boots, studded leather belt, and frizzy hair extensions…” 

“That will cost you thirty pounds,” the old lady made grabby hands at him. “Pay up, lad.”

“Eh?” Merlin cried, “You can’t have known me—err, I mean Merlin the First—for this long and still think I’m going to barter with modern currency!”

He tossed the triskelion piece onto the counter.

“What is this piece of junk?” asked Miranda. “It can’t possibly be worth thirty pounds.”

“That piece of junk is solid bronze and inlayed with lapis lazuli. It is over four hundred years old.” 

“Hmph, wouldn’t even be useful as a coaster”, said Miranda, but she appeared to be swayed. “Fine, I’ll trade it for those clothes, but if you think that you or any of your relatives aren’t paying in silver shillings the next time you buy something from my shop, you have another thing coming!”

Merlin nodded seriously, biting his lip to keep from bursting out into laughter. The old lady made this bitter oath every time he stopped by, but she had never refused a trade.

Miranda hummed happily, as she took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. “Merlin the Second, lad, come have a drink with me.”

She led him to a kitchenette in the corner of the room and unlocked a cupboard. Merlin jumped when she brought out several bottles of amber malt whisky and slammed them on the table.

“M’randy!” he said, his mouth agape. “Is this all for me?”

The shopkeeper gave him a dirty look, and poured herself a tumblerful of whisky, “The bottle to the right of you is ginger beer. I would never allow your granduncle or anyone who shares blood with him another drop of alcohol again. I offered to let him partake in my vodka collection once, and he got drunk and started spouting some nonsense about being the most powerful wizard to walk the earth. The cabbage head forgot everything the next day, and even asked me why I had drained the bottles!”

Merlin went pale and grimaced. It was a wonder it had taken Arthur dying to expose his magic. The funny thing though was that he could always handle his ale in Camelot pretty well, but modern wines and spirits gripped at his magic and dizzied it. Only the other day, he had imbibed in a can of refrigerated sake and promptly blacked out.

“I apologize for Uncle’s conduct.” He said, bowing low. “I will let him know to replenish your wine stock. But you must understand that my uncle cares for you deeply. You’re one of the few friends he has. Please let him know if there is anything you ever need.” 

She regarded him fondly and patted his cheek with her hand. “Your granduncle’s done a lot for me. We’re both getting on in age. Tell him to visit me when he can, alright?”

After Miranda waved him out of the shop, Merlin set off to buy himself a scone, admiring his outfit as he went along. Of course, he put it on right away. He tucked the rainbow scarf around himself in a becoming manner, and let the shades slip to the edge of his nose like a pair of reading glasses. The feathered headband sat prettily in his hair and the heels of the moccasin boots clicked upon the floor. The bell bottom jeans hugged at his thighs and gave him a pleasant, cool feeling around his ankles. It was a both a comfortable and aesthetic outfit. Merlin had a great respect for whoever came up with such a liberating manner of dress.

A group of teenagers who were playing on the swings of the town playground stopped to gape as he approached. One particular awed boy tugged rebelliously at the top button of his collared blouse, which his mother had forced him to wear outside. Merlin smirked. He had ways to make himself even more of a sensation.

It was time to practice his swagger. Merlin brought his left leg up then pressed his heel to the ground. He shuffled his right foot forward and swayed his arms and hips jauntily. Switch feet. Lift, shuffle, sway, and repeat. Merlin didn’t stop to look back when he heard a loud crash behind him. Swooning teenagers were the least of his problems.

* * *

When Merlin arrived, he found Percival perched on a tall pine, polishing off a mouse.

“Perce! Come down here, you can have half of my scone if you like!” Merlin called. The owl descended with a swoop of broad, grey wings, dropped the letter on Merlin’s head, and abruptly soared back up again. Merlin wasn’t surprised. Perce was partial to raspberry scones alone and any other specimen of pastry was a sore point with him.

The letter bore the seal of the Hogwarts crest, so Merlin opened it with anticipation. 

Dear Mr. Pendroc,

We are pleased to accept you into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft Wizard of Wizardry. Since you have not been formally educated by a magical institution, you may be assessed for placement when you begin classes. However, since the Pendrocs are a family renowned for their talents in sorcery in both England and France, no admissions testing will be required. Term begins on September 1rst. A list of fifth year supplies and your ticket to the platform at 9 and ¾ at Kings Cross is enclosed.

Sincerely,

Professor Dumbledore

Well, that settled it. Merlin was going to spend a year as a Hogwarts student when he was over two thousand years old. He was comforted by the fact that even if he had to go to class to protect his charge, there was no possible way those fledgling warlocks could put a limit on his freedom. It was best to delay his reentry into fashion and start rigorously planning. While Merlin could spend a year taking an extra long nap, he shivered to think of the effects on the wizarding world if Voldemort was allowed to remain at large for that long.

He cupped his hands and whispered for the second time that week, “Ken, Bea, if you’re not too busy.”

An hour later, there was a sharp crack in the drawing room and Ken and Bea appeared, looking rather winded.

“Bonsoir, Merlin!” Bea huffed, unwrapping her bottle green muffler. “We got caught in a fair gale on the way to London. The paperwork’s done and you’re officially a Pendroc. We’ve gotten most of your books from Flourish and Blotts, and all that really needs to be done is purchasing some comfortable muggle clothes and fitting your robes. Ken has a couple of ideas about your wand too, don’t you, Ken?”

She turned to looked at her husband, who was staring at Merlin with his mouth open, from around a stack of books wrapped in brown paper.

“Galloping gargoyles, Merlin, what are you wearing? You look like a hippy!” asked Ken.

“Oh, this old thing?” said Merlin, blushing. “I bought plenty of these stunning outfits when I last went into town. You needn’t buy me any new clothes.”

“Why?” Bea frowned. “Do you want to stick out like a sore thumb? These were more common twenty or thirty years ago, but they’re out of fashion now, especially among wizards.”

Merlin went quite pale. “What do you mean they’re not fashionable! Ken, you gave me a _La Mode_ magazine recently. Teenagers love to wear these clothes when they dance and sing cool songs. It makes them feel hip! One of the village children even fainted from the heat of my swagger.” 

“There have been record high temperatures in Hearst Lane today, so I’m not surprised a child fainted from prolonged exposure to sun and not—err—from the heat of your swagger” Ken said, effortlessly balancing the pile of books on one hand, while he used the other to wipe his brow. “But several decades have past since I gave you that modern collection, Merlin. Bea and I barely saw you those years, because you were either shut up in your European estates or traveling, so we brought you the magazines to keep you amused. I assumed you had enough time to acquaint yourself with modern culture, but that's clearly not the case. Where were you all that time?”

“It hadn’t been even half a century since Selena sent me on my last mission,” Merlin grumbled glumly, his fists clenching. “It took so much of my attention tracking down that Bimblegod—er, I mean Grindelbald, yup, that was his name—that my sleep cycles were but forty-eight hours long. I decided to take my destiny into my own hands for once and booked a plane ride to Tibet. On one of the highest, most secluded, snowy peaks, I studied a form of meditation that had profound soporific effects on the mind. The High Lamas assured me that if I entered a deep state of uninvested contemplation, I may even be able to nap for up to a century.” 

Merlin fell to his knees, buried his head in his hands, and wailed. “To have missed such a beauteous age for a prolonged power nap! I never felt this cherished acceptance in Camelot, and I never will again. It is true that free souls are born out of their time? A real hippy waits for no one!”

The two magical creatures were used to Merlin’s dramatics and fondly observed from afar the bitter lament of the greatest warlock to ever walk the earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are probably going to my only OCs for now :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: descriptions of breakfast
> 
> Thanks for the kudos and lovely comments! They made my day <3

In the early morning, the kitchen was bathed in a dusky glow. From the porcelain blue coal stove, a rosy kind of warmth spread throughout the room, and a chipper kettle that had clearly borne the test of time was puffing merrily.

Merlin was seated at the table with his chin resting on his hands, deep in thought. In front of him was a plate covered with delicious breakfast eatables—eggs whose yolks were the color of freshly skinned persimmons, a pile of buttered toast, a rasher of bacon, and roast potatoes with spinach.

The kettle gave a low whistle, startling Merlin out of his trance, while the orange coals of the stove dimmed on their own. Merlin got up and stirred milk, tea, and sugar in a wide cup and saucer before digging in heartily. He dipped his toast into his egg yolk, thoughtfully seasoned it with pepper, and then sighed deeply in contentment when he took a bite of it with potato.

Breakfast had evolved since Merlin’s time in Camelot, especially since he grew up eating servant’s fare or the lumpy gruel Gaius made. When this godforsaken mission was over and he and Arthur were finally reunited, Merlin would treat the king to a proper modern Albionian breakfast. What Arthur usually ate before he went about his day was basically a charcuterie board—slices of ham and thickly cut bread with a hunk of cheese and sausage too. There wasn’t a single green thing or nutritious piece of produce on his plate, except for of course, grapes. Merlin had no idea why preschool snacks were part of the primordial diet of kings, but he remembered Uther seeming particularly fond of them. Merlin had once seen him impatiently popping a grape into his mouth in between passing an execution sentence on an unlucky hedge wizard, whose only crime was to buy a pack of magical sparklers for the village children. Shortly after Merlin rescued the man, it was rumored that the palace kitchens had a shortage of grapes, as all available ones were given to Uther to gnash his teeth on.

Once he had eaten his fill, Merlin set his dishes down in the sink to wash themselves and appraised the small kitchen sadly. If there was one refuge from the pain of losing Arthur and Freya, it was time spent working with his hands alongside the steady thrum of magic that cleaned up his messes and made sure his food was always the right temperature. Today, he would board the Hogwarts Express and not see his kitchen until the winter holidays. Instead of cooking his own meals, he would be at the Great Hall, eating whatever the house elves prepared for him. 

His kitchen wasn't the only comfort Merlin was leaving behind. In the drawing room was one medium-sized trunk and a duffel bag without extension charms, which were the only things he was taking with him. Merlin had gone through the inventory of his most precious belongings--relics of Camelot and keepsakes of friends from other eras who had died long ago, all which he could hardly bear to be parted from. He had decided to leave Excalibur protected by some hefty anti-theft wards and bring the necklace with a lock of Freya's hair. 

The only thing to do now was wait. The grand house already seemed lonelier from where Merlin sat on his trunk with his knees curled up to his chest, quite unremarkable and small next to the enormous chandeliers that had once hung in a Russian palace and the marble tiling which a young artisan had poured her heart into making after she saw the ocean for the first time.

A jingle similar to an ice cream truck song sounded outside, and Merlin flung the front doors open. Ken and Bea were sitting in a lime bottle green Ford Escort at the foot of the mansion. Ken popped his head out the back window and grinned, "It plays that tune instead of honking. Do you need help with your things, Merlin?"

Merlin gave the Ford Escort a baleful glare, "We could go by broom, or floo, or thestral. Heavens, we could even wind teleport! Why are we going by car?"

Ken wagged a stern finger at him. "The last time you tried to wind teleport in an urban area, you almost blew the Tower of London down. Bea and I had to complete an architecture degree in a day to keep the entire thing from collapsing."

"Besides," Bea said. "Witches and wizards often drive their children to Kings Cross at the start of term, young Mr. Pendroc. It might even give your story about being homeschooled for most of your life by doting noblesse some verisimilitude."

Merlin nodded resignedly and floated his bags to the trunk of the car with a flick of his wrists. It was a long way to Scotland. By the time they had descended the hills, passed by moory Shires and driven into the city, the sun was already high in the sky. As always, Merlin was startled by the changes in his surroundings during the years he had been away. A long stretch of butterfly meadow that had once teemed with magic of the Old Religion was now dotted with condominiums, and the soup stalls near the local beaches were rusted over. There were pleasant changes too. Plum and apple orchards had sprung up around the quaint circle of farm houses that stood on Ealdor's remnants. Merlin's mother had loved fresh plums with her porridge.

At half past ten, Bea pulled into Kings Cross Station. She and Ken put one hand on each of Merlin's shoulders as they went through the barrier between platforms nine and ten. When they emerged, they were engulfed with puffs of steam from the Hogwarts Express. As the steam cleared, Merlin became viscerally aware of the hustle and bustle of parents saying goodbye to their children. Mothers and fathers were embracing their sons and daughters, whispering reassurances and plans for holidays in their ears. Younger siblings were clinging tearfully to the sleeves of their older siblings, or alternatively, looking bored out of their minds. Merlin suddenly felt very homesick and out of place in the midst of the commotion.

He nervously cleared his throat and turned to face Ken and Bea.

"I suppose this is it then. The house wards don't need to be replenished, but the gillyweed's water needs to be changed before winter."

"We'll prune the rosebushes and weed the strawberry patch too," Ken nodded. 

"And you'll make sure Fenny's belly gets checked? He's got a strange mark on his scales over there," said Merlin, anxiously touching his middle. 

"Yes, Merlin. Bea already consulted with a magizoologist doctor, and we'll owl you when he's done brewing the medicine." said Ken, patting him on the head.

"Is everything alright?" Bea asked gently. "Missions don't usually faze you."

"I don't know why I'm like this", said Merlin in a choked voice, dabbing his eyes furiously with a handkerchief lest they betray him "I'm not really going to school, I'm over two thousand years old for heaven's sakes, but it feels like you're seeing me off. You two always visited me in that dear, stuffy castle, and we're parting now. To think after this year is over, I'll be home with you and Freya and Arthur!"

He flung himself on the couple, and the three hugged each other tearfully, while Merlin hummed softly, "I really _do_ hate goodbyes."

* * *

The locomotive ride was mildly stimulating, and Merlin had to quash down the urge to stick his neck out the window like a dog in order to enjoy the countryside air.

After changing into his new school robes, he left his empty compartment in search of something to amuse himself with. Upon further exploration, he soon found the trolley lady chatting amicably with the stationmaster, and relieved her of a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans and two bags of pepper imps. Merlin ended up distributing them to a group of woeful first-years who didn't have the funds for their own candy. Making friends with the younger children was easy, even though they were puzzled that Merlin was so ignorant at his advanced age.

"No, I do not know if Professor Snape washes his hair with grease, or if Dumbledore's taste for peppermint humbugs has made him go barmy." Merlin said, exasperatedly shaking his head at Euan Abercrombie, who had similarly unfortunately large ears. "I'm new here, like you. Look, I don't even have a crest on my robes."

"You don't even know who won the quidditch World Cup last year?" Euan inquired incredulously, while Merlin gave a maddening shrug. 

"Here, you can have this if you like," said little Rose Zeller helpfully, handing over her paper, _The_ _Daily Prophet_. "Mum gave me a copy to read on the train." 

Merlin retreated to his car gratefully and immersed himself in the modern magical newspaper. There were eye-catching horoscopes (Merlin's promised imminent death if he wasn't betrothed to a Viscount by winter), potion advertisements (who needed that much Sleakeazy, anyway?), and relationship advice (probably something Arthur might say that would make Gwen think about courting Lancelot again). He guffawed so loudly when he turned to an exclusive about Gilderoy Lockheart's provocative relationship with the Gringotts goblins, that he snorted pumpkin juice into his lap. 

When the train's whistle sounded, Merlin distractedly lugged his trunk out the door, burying his nose in an intriguing fashion column about neckerchiefs. Unfortunately, Merlin had forgotten what it meant to be a gangly teenager again, and that his long, awkward limbs had a mind of their own. He tripped over his own two feet, and was seconds away from crashing his nose into his heavily-warded suitcase, when a thin arm wrapped around his waist and steadied him. 

"Are you alright?" asked a Gryffindor teenager, peering at him through his smudged, round glasses. 

"Yes, thank you!" said Merlin, flustered, pausing to stare at the boy's green eyes. Their color reminded him of the beautiful Appalachian pine trees he had slept under when he went to visit the native druids in America. Suddenly, Merlin felt an annoying, nagging sensation, like he was forgetting something important that he would be scolded for later.

"I'm so clumsy," blabbered Merlin, going through a list of people he was supposed to remember in his head. "I haven't even been to Hogwarts yet. I'll probably trip down the staircase on my way to Potions."

"Are you new student? You get used to the staircases after the first week, but you have to remember to jump over a step," the boy smiled uncertainly and bent down to pick up Merlin's things. He reached for Merlin's newspaper, which was spread out voluminously on the floor, and froze. 

"Oh, do you want me to lend you my _Prophet_?” Merlin’s eyes gleamed conspiratorially, "The gossip about celebrities is most entertaining. It's purely intellectual content."

He leaned in to poke at the image on the open page and for the first time, noticed that the thin, red scar in the portrait matched the one on the boy's forehead.

"It's you! What scandalizing thing have you done to land yourself in an exclusive...hmm?" Merlin’s lips twitched with amusement.

The train car abruptly became thick with tension, and Merlin wished he hadn't opened his mouth. The boy stood up, gave him a withering glance, and strode out the door. Merlin frowned and worriedly read the caption under the boy's photograph.

"Harry Potter: the Boy Who _Lived_ or the Boy Who _LIED?_ "

Merlin put his head in hands and groaned.

He really should have paid more attention to Selena's debriefings. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlin's ear size is not an indication of his attention span.
> 
> Press the heart button? ⊂(◉‿◉)つ


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed reading the comments you guys left. Have a happy new year, everyone!

As talented as he was at getting himself into troublesome situations, Merlin was also pretty good at talking himself out of them. Which was why instead of abandoning the mission and drowning his sorrows in pumpkin juice when he heard the car door slam, he pelted after Harry and vaulted himself out of the train.

"Harry, wait!" he called breathlessly, sprinting with his eyes fixed on the back of Harry's messy, black hair. "You misunderstood me. That was my first time reading that ridiculous paper. I should have known it would be rubbish. As if Griphook would ever bat an eye at Gilderoy Lockhart’s ghoulish smile. He would rather knock his pearly teeth out and sell them to fan witches for a priceless family heirloom each. Harryyyy!...I can't keep up with a young lad like you. Come to think of it, I could hardly believe that Fudge man was the minister. His sense of fashion is appalling. I mean, seriously? Lime-green bowler hats? I'm surprised the French _ministre_ agreed to meet with him. I heard she gets indigestion quite regularly when he visits—"

Harry's pace slowed until Merlin caught up with him. He looked at Merlin suspiciously, "Have you been living under a rock?"

"I may have been home-schooled all my life, but I wasn't born yesterday! This stupid article is chock full of vindictive lies," said Merlin disapprovingly, brandishing the paper in his hand like it was a soiled nappy. "Anyway, I can tell that isn't like you!"

"What do you know about me?" Harry asked softly, cocking his head curiously at Merlin. "A lot of people don't believe me. We've only just met." 

Merlin took a deep breath and summoned the voice he used to tell Arthur that he was the rightful king of Albion—the same voice that convinced Arthur to stand in front of his entire people and pull out Excalibur from where it was embedded in stone. 

"You're Harry Potter, the boy who caused the Dark Lord's first downfall, even though he was only a baby at the time. Last year, you were kidnapped by that wizard's henchman, and forced to watch the revival of your parent's murderer. Instead of coming to your aid, your government branded you as a liar. It may be difficult to believe, but there will come a day when you will defeat Voldemort, once and for all. It's your destiny."

"Well, that's rather dramatic." Harry deadpanned, but the tension in his shoulder visibly released. "Did you find that in a storybook you read as a child? My friend Hermione read about me in three books before we met and she's muggleborn." 

"Your life is full of drama, unfortunately. And I actually only learned about your existence this year from my—er—godmother," said Merlin, holding out his hand for Harry to shake. "Now that's sorted out, are we alright? Can we be friends?"

"Sure, but you know all about me. I know nothing about you," Harry said with a small smile, shaking Merlin's hand. "How about we start with you name?"

"It's Merlin, like the bird," Merlin grinned widely. "As I said earlier, I've never been to school before. I hail from a small line of nobility, the Pendrocs, so we have tons of magical books and artifacts to educate ourselves with. Our house is basically a museum and my parents are historians."

"Really? I've been raised my Muggles for most of my life, so I haven't been to many wizarding homes. Coming here was my only chance to see what I was missing! So, what year are you in? Are you going to get sorted before the feast?"

"I'm a fifth year like you! You're in Gryffindor, so I'll try to get sorted in your house. Gryffindor Tower has a nice view as well. Might have to bribe the sorting hat."

"Our common room is pretty cosy in the winter too—well, all the common rooms are, except Slytherin's because it's under a lake. Play any quidditch? We have a keeper position open since our old captain left."

Merlin thought back to the first time he had tried to fly on a broom and ended up somewhere in the earth's upper atmosphere, and grimaced. "Not really, but I'm not bad at competitive wyvern-riding. Say, do you keep-"

"Merlin's beard!" Harry interrupted, staring uneasily at the moving carriages in front of them. 

Merlin jumped and side-eyed the boy next to him affrontedly. "Merlin's what? Excuse you!"

"I'm talking about the _famous_ Merlin, you know the bloke on all the chocolate frog cards." 

"Yes, but what does his beard have to do with anything?"

"I dunno. Wasn't it super long or something? Anyway, it's just an expression. Maybe wizarding nobility doesn't use it that often." said Harry distractedly, peering into the darkness. "Besides, that's not the point. What are those winged horses over there? I've never seen them before."

Merlin spent a second proudly pondering how stately his beard must have been to be memorialized in modern wizarding vernacular, before looking at the horses. "You mean thestrals?" 

"Is that what they're called? They're rather beautiful, but they look so thin and skeletal for some reason."

"This particular species migrated to Scotland from the Iberian Peninsula in the late eighteenth century." said Merlin, squinting at the eerie creatures' wings. "Their cries inspired quite a few muggle Edwardian horror stories."

"I wonder if Ron and Hermione can see them." Harry must have spotted his friends, because he sprinted into the distance, leaving Merlin to trail after him. 

The two soon arrived at one of the stationary carriages, in which five children, two owls, and a smooth sided toad were huddled closely around a jam jar filled with blue flame. Merlin had to admire the spellwork of the little contraption; it was keeping out the cold even as torrents of rain fell onto the children's cloaks.

"Harry!" a bushy-haired witch stood up and waved them in. "Where were you? We didn't know if you had gotten off the train or not. Neville said you might be looking for Hagrid. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Hermione," said Harry, getting into the carriage. "I met a new student in our year. Merlin, this is Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Neville, and umm...Luna."

Harry gestured towards the bushy-haired girl, a pair of ginger siblings, a round-faced boy, and a blonde girl with protuberant eyes, who was reading a florid magazine upsidedown. "Everyone, this is Merlin."

The occupants of the carriage excluding the blonde girl, who seemed unconcerned with such worldly matters, gaped at Merlin. 

"Merlin? You were named after _the_ Merlin?" asked the lanky red-haired boy named Ron. 

"It could be the bird," said Harry, stroking feathers Hedwig's feathers through her cage. "What's the big deal about it? Muggles name their children after people all the time."

Ginny shook her head. "So do wizards, but calling a baby that would be expecting a lot."

"The name Merlin is considered to be almost god-like. The creeds Merin internalized and expanded on made up the very heart of magic. If not for him, sorcery would be way less developed in Britain" said Hermione seriously. 

"Imagine if my parents named me Merlin." Neville shuddered, casting Merlin a horrified glance. "I'd become a laughingstock after my first potion exploded. At least no one cares when your sir name's Longbottom." 

The carriage abruptly started moving towards the castle, matching the smooth gait of the thestrals. Harry seemed transfixed by the horses, watching as they shook the rain off their wings, before neatly folding them by their sides. 

"Ron," he whispered. "Why do you reckon they're using thestrals to pull the carriages this year. An extra security measure?"

"What do you mean?" said Ron aggrievedly, stating the obvious. "They're pulled by magic, same as always."

"No, can't you see the horses right in front of you?" said Harry urgently. 

Ron gave him a nonplussed look. "Harry," Merlin asked, a sinking feeling in his stomach. "Have you lost someone recently?"

"You can only see thestrals if you've watched someone die," said Neville calmly. "I've been able to see them since first year." 

Luna poked her head over her paper and gazed at Neville with interest. "Me too. You're just as sane as we are."

Harry was quiet for most of the remainder of the trip, although he did not look in the direction of the thestrals again. Merlin noticed Ron and Hermione eying him worriedly.

Before long, they had reached Hogwarts, and Merlin followed the five teenagers into the Great Hall. Immediately, he felt a rush of nostalgia. The ceiling charmed to look like the night sky and the suspended candles dripping with wax brought up memories of rainy afternoons spent with the four founders, eagerly discussing plans for their new school. The room itself was mostly unchanged, except for the hourglasses of jewels at the front and the sea of new faces around the tables.

He was about to join Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville, when a stern-looking witch with square glasses tapped him smartly on the back with a roll of parchment.

“Mr. Pendroc?” she said.

Merlin stared at her blankly. “Who?”

“I was given to understand that was your name,” said the witch primly. “Otherwise, I would have asked what you were doing at Hogwarts.”

“Oh right, Merlin Pendroc, that’s me.” Merlin gave a little wave and internally screamed at his forgetfulness. “My apologies. Is there anything I can do for you, Madam…”

“Professor McGonagall,” the lady said tartly. “Your transfiguration teacher and possibly, your future head of house if you are that eager to mingle with the Gryffindors. Mr. Pendroc, you were supposed to take the boat ride to the castle like the other new students.”

“I didn’t know,” Merlin said innocently, thinking that even if he had, there was no way he was going to board a small boat in such tempestuous weather, only for a more aesthetic view of the castle.

“That much is evident.” Professor McGonagall pointed to a huddle of first-years drying off by an empty stool. “Please go to the front to be sorted.”

Merlin went to join the eleven-year-olds. He was couple of heads taller than most of them and accordingly, stuck out like a giraffe among a herd of penguins. The size difference was attracting a great deal of attention; perhaps the other students thought he was a transfer from Durmstrang of Beauxbatons, but Merlin did not enjoy the conspicuity. He made his way to the first-years whom he had befriended on the train. 

“Merlin!” little Rose Zeller and Euan Abercrombie excitedly called out to him, the latter’s prominent ears still red from cold.

“Hullo, Rose and Euan. Eager to be sorted, are we?”

“Eager, my foot,” said Euan peevishly. “What worries me is that I still haven’t figured out if the hat’s going to put us in a hypnotic trance or not.”

Merlin rolled his eyes, “The most you have to worry about is the people ahead of you having headlice. That hat has been used for hundreds of years, so who knows.”

Rose laughed and tugged on his sleeve, “Merlin, did you like reading the paper I gave you?”

“I came to realize that magical newspapers weren’t bastions of truth like I thought they were, which is a very sorry state of affairs indeed,” said Merlin grimly. “But I must thank you for keeping me occupied, so I didn’t try to turn the Hogwarts Express into a rendition of the Magic School Bus or something.”

“You watch that show?” asked Rose, raising her eyebrows. “I only know about it because I’m a half-blood.”

“Bea—I mean—my mother likes it,” said Merlin loquaciously, thinking back to a pleasant evening a couple of days ago, spent catching up on children’s cartoons in order to forget the mortifying ordeal with “Life in the 70’s.” “It’s highly educational in the modern sciences—”

McGonagall cleared her throat and unfurled her roll of parchment. “Silence, please. The sorting will now commence. First up, Abercrombie, Euan.”

Euan was sorted into Gryffindor, and Merlin resigned himself to spending the rest of the year trying to satiate the boy’s limitless curiosity. With nothing better to do than watch the rest of the sorting, Merlin started counting the stars on the ceiling, but soon, McGonagall made it to the letter P.

“Pendroc, Merlin”

Merlin groaned at the fresh wave of murmurs about his name and tried to sink lower among the first-years, but Rose gave him a hefty shove in the small of his back, making him stumble forward. He perched himself on the stool and half-heartedly put on the sorting hat.

“You!” the hat shouted inside Merlin’s head, as soon as it touched his large ears.

“Me,” Merlin crossed his arms smugly. “I should think you’d be glad to see me, considering the last time we met, you were a sleek, black hat and not semi-patchwork.”

“That’s farther back than I care to remember,” said the hat grouchily. “You know I can’t choose your house. The only reason I sorted you into Slytherin once was because you lost a bet with Salazar. Now, do me a favor and tell me the house which best suits you.”

“I’m suited to all four houses, because I am a paragon of wit, loyalty, cunning and bravery.”

“How are you even still alive? And why?” the hat grumbled.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Merlin said snidely. “Anyway, I’m here on a mission to help Harry Potter, so you need to sort me into his house.”

“Here’s a wizard with at least half a brain cell,” the hat tutted. “Dumbledore thinks that ignoring him all year is going to make him forget his trauma. I’ve _been_ in the boy’s head; I know that will only lead to disaster.”

Before Merlin could ask what it meant, the hat shouted “GRYFFINDOR!”

Harry, Ginny, and Euan gave a loud cheer. Merlin was about to sit across from them, when he looked up and saw a pair of twinkling blue eyes staring at him. It seemed that he had attracted the attention of Albus Dumbledore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment + <3 = new year's gift


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